Keys and Parrots
by DrawMeASheep
Summary: COMPLETE. The swashbuckling adventures of Anthony DiNozzo, professional pirate. Crack.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Fer that ye'll walk the plank!

Spoilers: Heavens, no.

Summary: NCIS meets pirates because Tony watches too many movies. Or something. Crack in three parts.

* * *

"Did I give you permission to go ashore, Mr. DiNozzo?"

Tony shoved his way through a crowd of foul-smelling men on the dock, ignoring the first mate of the ship he'd inexplicably found himself aboard for almost two weeks. And not even a Navy ship – a pirate ship! What had he done to deserve being thrown back in time to serve on a freaking 18th century pirate ship? There weren't even real bathrooms! Sure, pissing over the rail into the ocean was kind of fun, and the hole-through-the-plank thing in the bow had its charm, but that was _so_ not the point. He wanted some soft, fluffy toilet paper and a handle to flush. And a shower. And his regular razor. It had taken only one attempt at shaving with his dull pocket-knife to discover why most of his fellow pirates were bearded.

He rubbed his chin. At least he looked pretty good with some facial hair, if he did say so himself, though decent mirrors were another thing lacking in this Caribbean hellhole. Next cargo ship they looted, he was headed straight for the captain's quarters to snag some personal grooming supplies. And now he was planning ahead for a future aboard a pirate ship. Fantastic. He wanted to scream in the crowded, muddy street, _You lied to me, Johnny Depp, you strangely sexy pirate bastard!_

There was nothing sexy about the lice living in his new beard. Or the rats infesting the ship. God, the rats!

He'd originally tried to chalk the whole nightmare up to an especially vivid dream brought on by bad fish combined with too many movies, but the cut on his arm during his second sword fight had blown that theory out of the water – kind of like they'd done to the ship they'd plundered after that episode. Aaaaand, now he had what were probably infected wounds in a time before antibiotics. Maybe he should just fill up on the moldy bread so readily available in the ship's galley and hope for the best.

Of course, even if there were some reasonable explanation for time travel, there was no way to justify the fact that his colleagues from NCIS kept popping up, acting like life on an old pirate ship was perfectly normal. Blackstache Vance, the captain, Mr. Gibbs, the first mate, Tim, the cabin boy…

He was distracted by a tug on the sleeve of his itchy, stained linen shirt. "Damn it, Mr. Gibbs, just leave me alone so I can get nice and shit-faced on the only thing I can recognize in this goddamn…"

"Hey!" His head jerked forward as Gibbs smacked it. "Precept the seventeenth – ye'll not take the name of Our Lord in vain, not having good cause to do so."

Tony ignored him, as he had just spotted a group of drunks staggering under a faded, hand-painted sign. "_The Windy Slug_? Who names these dumps?" He winced under another slap. "What?"

"Precept the fourth – no house where a man can avail himself of good drink shall be disparaged. 'Sides, a man that sails aboard the Northern Caribbean on the_ Invader of the Seas_ rarely pays at the Scotsman's tavern."

"Fine, whatever." Ducky was really stepping down in the world, going from doctor to tavern keeper. Of course, considering the rest of them were pirates, he wasn't in any place to judge. "Just let me go and stop hitting me." The words sounded strange coming out of his mouth, but he had too many other issues to maintain his usual awe of Gibbs at this point. Besides, this wasn't really Gibbs – this was _Mr._ Gibbs, who was currently dragging him into a seedy bar for an afternoon of heavy drinking.

The inside of _The Windy Slug_ reminded him a little too much of the ship he'd been aboard for the past two weeks, but the bottles lined up behind a long bar instantly lifted his spirits. He sat down, experiencing only the slightest difficulty from the positioning of his sword, and was about to order the biggest glass of rum they had when the barmaid dropped into Mr. Gibbs' lap. "Abs?"

"Oh, so now this one is telling all hands on the _Invader_ about his favorite lady? My, my, I'll get a reputation!" She barely looked at him, instead lavishing attention on Mr. Gibbs. It did give Tony ample time to appreciate her tight corset and pale cleavage. How did she manage to stay so white in this climate?

He didn't have long to consider, as they were joined a moment later by Ducky. And he brought a bottle of rum, bless him. Tony didn't even care about the lack of Coke or ice as the first sip seared his throat. Or weird introductions to people he already knew. Ducky seemed keener on getting acquainted. "So, Mr. DiNozzo, d'ye find a life of adventure suits ye? Nothing quite like the fresh salt spray on your face during a hearty chase on the high seas. Why, when I…"

He tuned out Ducky's story for another long drink from his new best friend. Enough of this stuff and he might be able to forget Abby squirming in Gibbs' - _Mr._ Gibbs' lap as he called her a salty harlot. Yeah, that was gonna require more rum.

"Slow down, there, m'boy. Too much of that and ye'll go blind! Mix it will a little water, at least. You there! Hobgoblin! Water and sugar! And lemons! I make an exceptional fortifying punch."

Palmer popped up from behind the bar to squeak, "Right away, sir."

Tony didn't even blink at this new development, as he was too busy cowering behind Abby and Mr. Gibbs; Ziva had just walked into _The Windy Slug_. He wasn't sure if killer female pirates were historically accurate or just something he'd gotten from movies, but he had sure as hell noted that pirate-Ziva was every bit as scary as assassin-Ziva, except that no one had given her any ground rules beyond 'don't kill the captain or first mate.' So…scarier. And carrying a sword. These factors combined to ensure that he had yet to make a joke about how Tim the cabin boy trailed her around like a terrified puppy, ready to retrieve her slippers at a moment's notice.

After seeing Abby's revealing getup, he had one more reason to dislike pirate-Ziva and her long-sleeved shirt and… leggings? Breeches? Oh, who the hell cared? He had rum and that was good enough for him at the moment. Unfortunately, she had already seen him and was making her way across the room toward him. The splinters of a chair were still settling on the only man dumb enough to stand in her way with a leering eye when she reached where Tony was sitting. "You should have mentioned you were going for a drink."

"Hey!" he protested weakly when she yanked the bottle from his hand. Though he didn't really want to share his rum, he was still sober enough to know that trying to take it back from her was an exceedingly poor plan. Instead, he reached for a chair for her as she impressed Ducky with her drinking prowess.

"Aye, lass, ye'r a fine one! Haven't seen a lady drink like that since my own dear mother passed, heaven rest her soul!"

"Hard not to enjoy such fine spirits, Scotsman!"

Tony reclaimed his bottle, significantly lighter, as Ziva took her seat. The conversation between her, Gibbs and Ducky quickly turned to how much of the plunder from their latest job could be sold in town. Tony focused on emptying his bottle. When half an inch of murky brown goo was left, he flopped back in his chair, steadying himself with a hand on Ziva's shoulder. "Hey."

"Aye?"

He hated that her leather boots were the tightest thing about her outfit, and he'd finally had enough rum to say so. "Why aren't you wearing a dress with a low-cut bodice and frilly petticoats or something? Why don't you dress more like her?" he asked, gesturing toward Abby, still in Mr. Gibbs' lap, with his bottle.

Ziva was incredulous. "How could I possibly carry a sword in clothing like that?"

"You don't need a sword! You're supposed to be a…a…a wench!"

"A _what_?"

He was starting to feel fuzzier and fuzzier. "And you snore like a drunken sailor! Which…actually, that's probably the only thing that makes sense. But your hammock is right below mine so all freaking night it's like…like…" He was only briefly aware of the table coming up to meet his head.

* * *

Ziva set her backpack on her desk in the bullpen as she greeted McGee. "Good morning. Sorry I am late."

"I figured you stopped by the hospital." He turned his full attention from his computer to her. "How's Tony?"

"They think the hallucinogenic agent will be flushed from his system in another day or two. It is fortunate that Abby was able to isolate it."

"And lucky our bad guys weren't able to make more than one useful dose. Will Tony suffer any lasting damage?"

"It is not anticipated."

McGee was quiet for moment as they both sipped their coffees. "He still think he's a pirate?"

"Oh yes."


	2. Chapter 2

Tony pressed his arm over his eyes as he groaned in a dark, stinking, creaking room and prayed that the rocking in his head would stop. He should have left these kind of drinking binges in college. Maybe in an hour or so he would be ready to look around and figure out where he was. Until then…wait, beard? And why the hell wouldn't his bed stop moving? It was like swinging, swinging…swinging…nausea…swinging…

He rolled and, after a long drop, landed on a damp, hard floor – which was also moving. "Uggggghhhhhh."

"Shut up."

He waited until some dry heaves subsided before feebly calling, "Ziva?"

Her reply consisted of a thunk somewhere near his head. He squinted his eyes open to see a knife in the board, still shaking from impact with the wood.

"Ugh. What did you do to me last night?"

"Oh, fine thanks I get for conveying you back safely to the _Invader_. Would have served you right to wake up in the streets of Nassau, robbed and stripped naked."

"You've got some pretty twisted fantasies." He suddenly hoped she wasn't sleeping with any more knives. "But, um, thanks. I guess."

"Thank _you_ for not vomiting on the floor, though I cannot imagine you have anything left."

"Aw, crap."

Ziva's head popped over the side of a hammock swinging above him. "Please tell me you did not…"

"No, but I'm still a damn pirate."

"You like being a pirate."

"How would you know?" He flopped onto his back, trying to enjoy the rocking of the ship. _I am on a peaceful lake, letting the gentle waves…making me feel nauseous._ Right, so that wasn't working. Maybe in the future – the damn distant future, assuming he ever got back – he would have to be a little nicer about McGee's seasickness. "I don't want to be a pirate anymore. I _like_ being a guy with electricity and TV and Ohio State football and…and cheeseburgers and…" He managed to open his eyes and look up at her. "women who bathe daily…"

"Insults. You must still be drunk. I am sure our crewmates will be proud."

He felt his head swim, though not with the abandon of alcohol. "Has Tabasco been invented yet?"

"What?"

"I'd even take your jasmine tea and lime thing for this hangover."

"Well, if that is all you want…"

He didn't bother to complain about the fact that she stepped on him as she swung down from her hammock and strode out of the large room. Cabin. Whatever. It was just another hit to his nightmare theory that he was suffering with a hangover. Dreams weren't supposed to hurt. And time travel wasn't supposed to exist. Yeah. And why were there so many people snoring in here?

Ziva was suddenly back. "This should help." She passed him a handful of black and brown fur.

"What is this?" He propped himself up on his elbow.

"Dog hair. It is how most of the crew cures their hangovers. I assume that is why we keep Jethro aboard, in spite of the fact that he seems to make Captain Blackstache sneeze."

He had to blink a few times before his brain made the connection. "Ziva, hair of the dog is just an expression. You cure your hangover with more booze. So stop torturing McGee's dog and bring me some rum."

"I am not your serving wench. Get it yourself." She stepped on him again as she returned to her hammock.

He was about to protest when a glass bottle hit the floor beside his head. "Oh. Thanks."

"I had to take it away from you last night, now I have returned it. Drink it and shut up."

He held down the first retch only some effort, but he started to feel better by the third slug from the bottle. He managed to stagger to his feet and meandered out of the room into the open air on deck. At the first railing he came to, he decided that a struggle with his fly was in order. If he could invent the zipper…oh, there it was. He aimed over the rail and let go. "Ahhhhh."

"Hey!"

Tony opened his eyes and discovered his stream wasn't landing overboard. "Oh, sorry, Tim."

"I may be a cabin boy, but you've no right to piss on me! I mean, to actually piss on me!"

Tony let McGee climb the ladder as he held it in long enough to reach a railing that overlooked water. "If you want some rum, feel free."

He didn't approach until Tony had buttoned back up. "You didn't piss in this, did you?"

"No." He took a long drink from the bottle, which seemed to satisfy McGee.

"Right." He took a quick swig before passing it back. "You've got some damn dumb luck with your aim. I'd have thought you meant to hit me if I hadn't seen your demonstration at _The Windy Slug_ last night."

"My demonstration?"

"Yeah, I've never even seen Ziva shoot the cork off a bottle, though I bet she could. You hit two and you were just waving your flintlocks around."

"I'd rather be lucky than good." Tony grinned. "Lefty Gomez. Played baseball."

"Baseball?"

"I'd offer to cut you in on inventing it with me, but you'd just turn it into a video game."

McGee looked at him quizzically for a long time. "You don't make much sense, DiNozzo."

"Nope. But I think I may have some better money-makers than piracy," he paused as he pointed to his temple with the mouth of his bottle, "right here."

"Anything you might want to share with your Captain?"

Tony spun too quickly to face Vance, and almost choked on a mouthful of rum. It was the long, curly wig that had to be most responsible for that. When he had collected himself, he managed to stammer, "Just talk, sir. Nothing in it."

"Wouldn't expect anything from you, Mr. DiNozzo, but since you're up so early…"

Tony discovered yet another terrible thing about being a pirate – washing the deck. If he got back to his own time, he was going to need an appointment with modern McGee's manicurist.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony thought he was handling himself pretty well during this attack on…he wasn't even sure who they were attacking, just that one second he was involved in a swordfight that would make Errol Flynn proud and the next he was narrowly escaping the point of a bloody cutlass that had suddenly appeared in through the chest of his opponent. After a quick step backward to avoid a spurt of red spittle, he gathered himself enough to feel indignant. "Ziva, what the hell?"

"You looked as if you could use some help," she replied, casually propping her foot on the dying man's back as she yanked her sword back through his writhing body.

"I was doing just fine. You could have stabbed me!"

"If I were going to stab you, you would not see it coming." The man at her feet certainly saw it coming as she gave him a final slash across the throat. "I can finish up here. Get below decks and help transfer the cargo. Captain Blackstache wants the booty aboard the _Invader_ before sundown."

He took a moment to appreciate some unseized booty as she turned and scrambled up a ladder to an upper deck, much to the chagrin of several sailors who immediately surrendered. She seemed miffed by the development and swatted the parrot off one of their shoulders. Tony shrugged and headed below decks, toward the sound of Mr. Gibbs barking orders. "Heave! Are ye expecting the chest to grow legs and walk itself out? Are ye man or mouse, boy?"

McGee struggled around the corner with a large trunk. "Oh, DiNozzo, could you…?"

A shout came from the room he had just exited, "Precept the seventh!"

"But I have my cutlass!" McGee protested.

"That's the ninth," Tony said, pushing past without offering the cabin boy any assistance with his burden. Maybe the more things changed the more they did stay the same. "Pirate rule seven is something about doing your own work."

"Your own _damn_ work, Mr. DiNozzo!" Mr. Gibbs corrected, knocking the wind out of Tony as he shoved a barrel that sloshed with liquid into his stomach. "Now get this rum to the ship and be quick about it!"

He was halfway up the ladder with the heavy cask when the scene started to shimmer. For a few seconds, he could feel a breeze on his bare behind and cold tile beneath his feet. Ziva had a firm grip on his elbow and was saying, _You need to get back in bed._ Then, he stepped into the sunlight topside and the moment and feeling were gone. He set the barrel down and made sure he was wearing pants before calling out, "Ziva!"

He jumped as her voice came from directly behind him. "What?"

"Did you say something to me just now? Something about going to bed?" She looked at him as if he had sprouted tentacles from his face. "Never mind."

"Mr. Gibbs must have hit you harder this time. Here, take this." He flinched as she reached toward his head, but rather than a slap, he felt a light weight settle on his hair. "It doesn't seem to like me."

His finger received a nip as he reached up to find out what she'd put on his head. "Ow! Is that the parrot you punched?"

"I did not _punch_ it." She reached down and hefted the cask of rum onto her shoulder. "Go and get something else before Mr. Gibbs has to smack you again."

"I don't think he ever _has_ to…" The world shimmered again before he finished the sentence. Ziva was standing behind a curtain, talking to herself – no talking on a cell phone, _It shouldn't be much longer before all of the drug is out of his system._ He tried to ask, "What drug?"

He was met by a slap to the head from Mr. Gibbs. "No opium in this cargo. Just take another cask of rum and we're done here."

"Yeah. Sure."

"And Mr. DiNozzo?"

His head was a muddle of images, itchiness, and what he suspected might be parrot poop. "What?"

"Nice bird."

As it tried to peck at his eyes, Tony wondered if the thing might at least eat some of his lice. "Bad Polly."

The thing whistled directly into his ear and repeated, "Bad Polly! Bad Polly!" before trying to get at his eyes again. He wasn't sure if this latest shimmer was another time travelling hallucination or the bird getting lucky. He sank to the floor, finding the rocking of the ship more comforting than usual.

* * *

Tony opened his eyes slowly, just in case the parrot was still plotting against him. He waved a hand over his head. No bird. In fact, it wasn't even itchy. So far, so good. Even his hammock was oddly comfortable, almost like…he stiffened as he realized he was in a real bed. He was wearing a hospital gown! The room was dimly lit with fluorescent lights! He could smell disinfectant!

He laughed and yelled, just to hear his own voice, "I'm not infested with vermin!"

Another voice replied from nearby, "Thankfully."

He glanced fearfully toward the window, though the lighted nighttime panorama of DC was surprisingly comforting. Ziva, in jeans and a sweater, was in a chair, reading _The Right Stuff_ with her feet propped on the plastic guardrail of his bed. He watched her suspiciously for a moment, but she continued to read. "You don't have a sword do you?"

She didn't even look up from her book. "No, Tony."

"And there's not a parrot sitting on my head trying to drink my sweet eye juices?"

"No."

"You didn't even look."

"I doubt a parrot would be in the hospital."

"So…" He looked around the room for confirmation. "I'm in a hospital."

"Yes."

His whoops of joy drew a crowd of nurses in from the hallway. "I'm not a pirate! I'm not a pirate anymore!"

A particularly severe looking woman pressed his shoulder down into his mattress. "Mr. DiNozzo, if you could calm down…"

"Hell no! I've been on a freaking ship for the past few weeks and I'm gonna enjoy being in the right time and place again! Turn on the TV! Bring me a pizza!"

"Sir, we need to…"

"I think he will be fine," Ziva interrupted, motioning the few lingering nurses toward the door as she pulled on her coat. "Have a good night, Tony. I will let everyone know you are back to…well, normal."

"Wait, you're just gonna leave?" He put on his best pleading face. "Didn't you miss me the past month and a half? You're just gonna abandon me after I've been in a coma?"

"What coma? You have been playing pirate for the past three days."

"I've been…conscious?"

"And _active_. It was only this morning they were able to take off the soft restraints."

"But I was on that ship for weeks!"

"I think maybe you should get some rest. We can talk about this tomorrow."

Tony shook his head. "I…I swear, I was on a pirate ship for, like, over a month. I had swordfights and parasites and drinking binges!"

Ziva shook her head. "Hospital. Three days."

"But…" To his surprise, she leaned down and kissed his cheek. "You smell so much better now."

"Thank you. Sleep well."

Her lack of questions was beginning to disconcert him. "Um, how much did I say while I was…um, out?"

Her grin was scarier than anything pirate-Ziva had done. "Goodnight, Tony."

As she sauntered out of his room, he wondered if waking up in the real world had been the best idea.

The End

Thank you to all for reading.


End file.
